once and once more
by TheShadierTwin
Summary: Champions retire. Rest awaits. What's next? Sequel to "love me leave me" and "time flies time dies"


Xander laughed softly. Spike took notice – that was a real laugh, not one to scare away his fears. Xander was really, truly glad. He hadn't laughed like that since Christmas.

Spike sat in the chair by Xander's bed. He held Xander's hand, brushed his thumb over Xander's knuckles. "What's got you so glad, love?"

Xander turned and looked at Spike; there were tears in his eye. "They found a way, Spike. We are going home." There was a finality to the way Xander said home, and Spike knew he didn't mean the apartment they had back in New York. "My mom is there, and she is not drunk, and she is _happy_ about that. And your mom is there too, and not the demon."

"Sounds like a good place," Spike said, kissing Xander's hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, hiding himself in the scent of Xander's skin and forgetting about this sparse, dusty cell they were spending their last days in. The promise of heaven did a lot to outweigh concrete and a mattress that smelled of piss. "When are we going?"

"Soon. Willow is there, with Tara and Oz, and she is waiting in the playground. Buffy went there after she died, and now she is there again, and Dawn is there, and Joyce too. Giles is there but he is usually in the Library or at Miss Calendar's house."

"Reckon he would be."

"And do you know who else is there, Spike?" said Xander, his eye starting to leak and his smile growing. "Jesse." He turned his head back to look at the ceiling. "Does dying hurt, Spike?"

Spike remembered frozen black numbness and, later, searing white heat, all those hundreds of years ago. He never outright lied to Xander, not since the spell that froze Xander as a cripple and refused to let his mind heal, not about important things like this. But he wouldn't break him more, not if he could avoid it; Xander couldn't face death on his feet like he deserved, but Spike would be damned if he'd be remembered as anything but brave once they'd gone on.

"It hurts," said Spike. "But you're strong enough to face it, if you remember where we're going after."

Xander nodded, his face like a child who is trying to be brave. "She should have something to remember us by," he said. "Will you put Tor on the dresser, please? And your coat, too."

They'd taken his coat when they'd been captured, and Tor had been ruined in the fight. The toy hyena had been more patch than fur, anyhow; the only reason Spike didn't just buy a new one, like he'd done with Miss Edith when she'd gotten too worn, was the fact that Xander had sewn half the patches on himself. There was no dresser, either – just the squeaky, rusty bed and a wooden chair that Spike had had to beg for.

"Sure, love. In a bit."

"We have a little more time, before the Children decide who will deal the killing blow. Will you love me, Spike?"

"Until my ashes turn to dust, Xander, you know that."

"No. Will you make love to me, Spike?"

Spike leaned over and kissed Xander. Xander lifted the covers, and Spike settled in beside him.

The slayer woke up with a shuddering sob. She hadn't been able to wake up throughout her whole nightmare – she'd watched the seer she captured suddenly die, die of old age, and his body rot away to dust, all in the span of seconds – the vampire she'd captured with him had shrieked with a mad grief, thrown himself at the guards, and been staked. She would have to tell them, she thought, not to try and break the bond between them, if this was going to be the result.

Only, when she got out of bed, she realized that it hadn't been a dream at all, and it had already happened.

She couldn't explain how she knew that. Slayer Dreams were almost always about the future, unless they were about the life of a slayer that had gone before them, and even then they usually had to do with something the current slayer had to deal with. This wasn't a Slayer Dream. This was... someone or something else. This was showing a slayer team doing something wrong and a vampire doing something right. This was completely different from the black and white world the Council tried to teach them.

She made her way down to the cells. Few slayers went to the cells when they didn't have to, and almost nobody liked it. The slayer was no exception, but she had to know, had to see for herself. Only a few of the other cells were occupied. The slayer ignored the furry brown thing, the blue thing from Ireland, and the thing with a spike for a hand. She only wanted to see the one from her dream.

They hadn't cleaned up the dust yet. There were two piles, one by the door, one on the bed. She shivered. She knew it had been real, but she hadn't been sure until she saw it.

"Did you know who they were?"

The slayer whirled around. It was the blue thing, leaning lazily against the bars of his cell. He was staring in her direction, but through her.

"Not their names. Did you know what they meant?"

She shook her head. The blue thing smiled.

"Honest. I like that. They were Champion and Seer. Balance. Only ones out there, and you slayers murdered them."

The slayer felt it like a punch in the gut.

"You believe me?"

She looked at the piles of dust in the empty cell and nodded, hesitantly.

"Smart. Even better. Thing is," said the blue thing, stepping back from the bars. "There's always a Seer. That's me now, unless they kill me like they killed the poor madman. And there's always a Champion. There's a voice in my brain that says the next Champion is a slayer." He grinned, looking at her. "Want to find out what happens next?"

She grinned back, and gripped the bars.


End file.
